


Just a Joke

by greenfairy13



Series: Descending into Darkness [3]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Future Fic, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Mostly Canon Compliant, Post-Killing Joke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-25 05:20:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22090696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenfairy13/pseuds/greenfairy13
Summary: After the events in Killing Joke, Jim goes to Oswald's club.
Relationships: Oswald Cobblepot/Jim Gordon
Series: Descending into Darkness [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1590061
Comments: 12
Kudos: 35





	Just a Joke

**Author's Note:**

> Reading the previous fics in this collection is recommended but not strictly necessary. I live for comments! Unbeated so there might be mistakes.

“Did you know your Club is the last place in Gotham where one is allowed to smoke?” 

Jim looks up from the table and directly at Oswald. He sounds annoyed, as usually when talking to Oswald but his fingers tapping the pristine surface impatiently betray his tone. 

Eyes drawn together, the mobster holds his tongue. Usually, he’d get into an argument with the cop, needle him about his unhealthy habit or outright insult him. But after their last encounter and after everything that happened earlier, the Penguin isn’t sure where they stand - less than ever. 

“So that’s what you’re here for?” he asks gently. “Smoking?” 

“And drinking,” Jim adds, raising his half-filled glass. 

“Two things you could do in your own flat, too. Especially given the fact you’re sitting here all by yourself in a private booth” Oswald objects, feeling his own impatience rise. 

“Tonight is Tuesday,” Jim merely replies as if that is supposed to explain anything before taking another sip from his drink, facing away from the gangster. 

The mobster huffs incredulously. “I won’t allow you to harass my guests _here_ , James,” he admonishes harshly. “If you’re looking for…”

Jim cuts the Penguin off with a motion of his hand. “I’m off duty tonight,” he informs him. “And if you don't want to throw me out, I’d love to continue smoking.” With that, he lights another cigarette and starts inhaling the toxic fumes meticulously. His motions are controlled, steady, as if he was performing some sort of religious ritual and yet he seems more agitated than ever. Maybe it’s only a trick of the light, or maybe the two of them know each other for so long but Oswald swears Jim isn’t himself - not even slightly. 

“You haven’t been off duty since you first set foot into Gotham,” he growls lowly. “Shift,” he commands, tapping the Commissioner’s foot lightly with his cane, and to his utter surprise, the other man obliges. 

They are pressed together in this seemingly secluded space. The music, the chatter of the other patrons are nothing but a distant buzz. He feels the cop’s warmth, smells his stale breath and the cheap soap they use at the precinct as well as in Blackgate. Their thighs touch and Oswald thinks the other man’s body heat will burn his skin if he isn’t careful. Their eyes meet and Oswald swallows. For one insane moment, he feels like falling into a pitch-black abyss. There’s nothing but darkness in this gaze, no warmth, no compassion, no emotion at all. It’s ridiculous, sure, but instinctively, he scoots away or tries to, but Jim yanks him back.

Grabbing him by his lapels, Jim pulls him close until their foreheads almost touch. Those hands, so close to his throat, force the gangster’s long-forgotten fears to resurface. He bites his lips nervously, considers calling for help, for his goons, his bartender, a waiter, _someone_ and can’t. Jim’s breath is too hot, causing his monocle to steam-up and his vision to become blurry. The grip on his throat feels different this time, more dangerous, more unpredictable and Oswald keeps telling himself he’s just making things up, Jim hasn’t changed and the expression he imagines lurking in his face is not what it is. 

With a growl, Jim releases him. “Is that what you think I _really_ came for?” he whispers mockingly. Leaning back, he shakes his head. The man’s shoulders slump and when the light shifts again, Jim looks defeated. “Just let me have my drink or throw me out already,” he mumbles. 

“That’s, that’s….What kind of host would I be if I’d throw out my guest?” Oswald asks, chuckling nervously. 

Jim shrugs. “I’d understand it.”

Swallowing heavily, the mobster reaches out, places a consoling yet uncertain hand above Jim’s. “I think I know what you’re here for. And trust me, if I had seen the Joker, I’d…” 

Once more, Jim cuts him off. “What would you know about the Joker?” he demands sharply. Assessing Oswald’s expression, he adds, “I know exactly where _Jeremiah_ is.” 

Oswald freezes. Nothing but untamed fury contorts the Commissioner’s face before he’s able to put his poker face back on. “You want my help arresting him then?” he asks cautiously and Jim shakes his head. “I wouldn’t even demand a favor this time,” he adds hastily, not realizing his mistake. 

The cop grinds his teeth together, his grasp around his glass tightens to the point Oswald thinks he’s trying to choke the vessel. “ _What_ do you know?” he snarls, eyes boring into the mobster’s head.

“Just the news reports?” the gangster replies, instantly noticing his mistake. There have never been any reports. Barbara’s money and Jim’s influence made sure of it. 

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised,” Jim sighs and they both fall silent. 

“I know there was an attack,” Oswald shares finally. “I know the Joker, Jeremiah, shot your daughter and left her to die. I know you have been abducted.” The gangster assesses the other man for his reaction. 

“If you know that,” Jim grumbles, “you know everything else. The report was classified and I’m sure you haven’t only read the first and the last page once you got your hands on it.” 

“This is about _Barbara_ ,” Oswald defends himself. “If you recall, I’ve been present at her birth, I’ve held her even before you did and now…”

“Now she’ll never recover,” Jim finishes. “All because I couldn’t stop her from becoming Batgirl.” Leaning back, he lights another cigarette while Oswald is rendered to staring at him in silent shock. 

“She’ll walk again,” the cop muses, paying his companion no attention. “Bruce owes her that much. If not for him and his stupid quest, _my_ stupid quest, she’d still be unscathed.” 

Oswald nods silently. 

“He raped her,” Jim states and his words cut deep into the gangster’s heart, confirming what he hoped had been an exaggeration or maybe false information even though he had known. The cop’s voice is stripped from emotion, robotic, as if it was detached from his body in order to process the horror. “ He, Jeremiah, shot her into the stomach and raped her while I had to watch. And then he made me watch it again.”

Jim talks like a news reporter, never once taking his eyes off one of the rings decorating the criminal’s hand. 

“What else happened in the tunnel?” Oswald dares to ask at last. 

“Didn’t you read the report?” the cop snaps back. 

“Those parts were blackened,” he admits. 

Jim merely nods and Oswald doesn’t dare to press for an answer. He’s thinking back to when their twisted, sexual relationship started, how he humiliated the man beside him. Shame and guilt he has no means to express surge through his veins. He presses his lips together, inhales a sharp breath through his nose and as if Jim was reading his mind, he cuts off the apology the gangster starts wording in his head. 

“It’s unfair to Barbara the parts regarding my fate got blackened. I didn’t get hurt after all,” Jim declares bitterly. “In this tunnel...Well, he stripped me and made me watch what he did to my girl over and over again.” The cop shrugs. “I wasn’t hurt at all. I got lucky...just like before.” And isn’t that the biggest jab to Oswald’s heart? He wants to protest but knows better. 

“He said one bad day would drive anyone insane.” 

Oswald is certain Jim will start laughing hysterically any minute. He doesn’t, but his face contorts into a bizarre grimace. 

“He crossed a line there,” he offers timidly. 

Jim huffs. “All the rogues in Gotham, Batman, the cops...did you ever wonder how we are all still alive? We are all inseparably intertwined, aren’t we?” And now, he starts laughing. 

“Bruce will never stop Jeremiah for good, I will never stop you, you, you would have never hurt my little girl, would you?”

The Penguin swallows. Certainly, Jim is drunk. Else he wouldn’t call the Batman by his name, would never give away his daughter’s secret identity, would never..

“Oh, don’t give me that look, Oswald. You must have known. How many opportunities did you have to kill the boy and refused? How many times did Batgirl interfere with your plans, hmm? How many times did you have the opportunity to kill me? Isn’t that right, Oswald? Penguin?” 

Oswald isn’t sure whether Jim is laughing or crying by this point. He’s on the verge of insanity and only his little ritual, the meticulously lit cigarette keeps him from tumbling into the abyss. 

“And Bruce, Bruce,” he snorts, “he’ll forgive him. Just like you forgave me all my mistakes. Isn’t that right, Oswald? You used to love me just as much as the Batman loves the Joker, right? It’s hilarious, isn’t it?” He pauses, looks at the gangster for a brief moment as if he had only now realized he’s still there and shakes his head once more. “The Joker was wrong though. It’s not a comedy, it’s a tragedy. Yet ever since, I can’t stop laughing,” he wheezes. “Tell me, why can’t I stop laughing?”

Oswald wants to tell Jim that he’s crying. Instead, he takes the other man’s hand. Oswald wonders how to stop the horror he’s witnessing. Sure, after Blackgate he fantasized about hurting Jim in such a profound fashion, wondered what it would feel like if he’d be given the chance to cut out his heart, went as far as almost forcing himself upon the other man. The reality beats any fantasy. 

“What are you going to do?” he dares to ask.

Jim shrugs. “I stopped Bruce from killing him. I couldn’t allow the kid to hurt himself in such a manner. I’ll finish what Bruce must never do.”

The gangster’s eyes widen in shock. “You’re not a killer, James.”

“We both know that’s a lie,” he laughs. “Remember Galavan?” he urges. And how could Oswald ever forget? 

“That was different!” he protests and Jim snorts in disbelief.

“Someone needed to be stopped, someone pulled a trigger. It wasn’t any different. But this time, I’ll take the fall.” 

There’s nothing to do for Oswald but to accept that fact. 

“I could help you,” he suggests, knowing already his offer will be refused. 

Finally, Jim gets up. “By the way, I apologize. I had no right taking this revenge from you.”

“You brought him to me,” the gangster remarks. The cop acknowledges the statement for what it is. 

“Wait!” Oswald hollers frantically. “Before you go...I’d still want to get that coffee if the offer still stands.”

Jim merely smiles. “Oswald, you should really stick to tea.”


End file.
